* My propensity to ignore “red flags” like some people ignore stop signs.

* My uber-creative ability to fabricate a relationship and false intimacy based solely on a string of marathon phone calls.

And last, but not least…

*My conspicuous lack of standards and boundaries that I didn’t even know I needed.

My bag was always full, as usual.

There is still always weird stuff in it….

The weirdest stuff in my bag right now is Hydrocortisone cream, Post-its, and one hoop earring.

Just in case, there is a need for um… an itching pirate writing sticky notes. [Because that’s so common.]

Note to self: Clean out your bag.

My cray cray bag does make for some interesting dating stories though…

Let me quickly flip through my rolodex of humiliation to find a good example of my misadventures.

Oh, here’s one.

Tick the ex-Football Player.

This was ions ago, but the example still works.

TicktheDick was bearable as long as he was silent.

Mostly because I just never knew what the hell he was talking about…

Once, I asked him why his nickname was Tick. Did he like bugs? Was he a bloodsucker? Did he attach to your body – waiting to be pulled off with tweezers? What?!

“Weeeeeeelp,” he always talked painfully slow.

“I was a football player,” he concluded dimly.

[Question: What does that mean?! How are bugs and football related? Translate, please.]

I hate non-answers. Evasive people never really “say” anything and then they take forever to say it.

Aside from bizarre non-answers. There was the weird Southern accent.

The Southern part was not the weird part. It was the fact that he only had an accent on the phone.

“Did you know you have a Southern accent on the phone?” I tried to say delicately – when what I meant was “are you bonkers?”

“Welp,” he chuckled. “I get that all the taaaahme.”

[Really. Ya think? Is that an answer on your planet? You were born and raised in New Jersey – the NORTHEAST. New Jersey is in the South like the first floor of my house is in the South – and by that, I mean it ISN’T?! WHY AM I TALKING TO YOU?!]

Oh yeah, I remember.

He was hot. Super hot.

If I bounced a quarter off his tooshie, it would shoot through the roof and land on Mars. [God Bless football tooshies.]

Look, I wanted my hot football player moment. I wanted to make up for all of the guys I didn’t date in high school or college. Besides, there is no talking during sex? Right?

New rule alert: Lights on, yes. Talking, no.

So I went over to his house one sunny afternoon for the first time. We had the obligatory, lame conversation – half of which – I didn’t understand.

[Just get naked, dude.]

He decided to give me a tour of his one-bedroom apartment. [Honestly, this could have been accomplished by standing in one place and turning in a circle].

When we reached the bedroom, we kissed. [Awesome. It’s naked time!]

I got naked and climbed into bed. The sun peaked in around the edges of the ugly green curtains – that only a dude would buy.

[Question: Why are beds so high these days? It’s like scaling a mountain.]

TicktheDick took off his clothes and we rolled around on the Jolly Green Giant bed.

Anticipation was thick in the air.

And then suddenly, for no apparent reason – he nearly fell off the Jolly Green Giant bed, and stumbled to his feet.

He looked down at me disgusted like I was covered with cow manure.

He declared, “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

Great.

THIS – he manages to say without the stupid accent.

The world was upside-down. It sucked big time.

And I have never gotten dressed so fast IN. MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.

So there you have it.

A bedtime story brought to you by my big old bag of cray cray…

But that was ions ago, long before Ben.

By comparison, Ben is a pussycat.

“We all have regrets in life,” he wrote in his mea culpa, “what we do about those regrets will determine how we feel about them!” [Seriously, dude. Exclamation point? Over-the-top much?]

“Up to this point I’ve done nothing,” he concluded.

Aww… Really?

I beg to differ.

The letter was nice enough and it took balls aplenty [most folks would have the good sense to burn the letter – or at least – not send it.]

I have no idea how I feel about ball gags? But the 2 words sound funny together so it’s worth a shot. Now, I’m gonna have to Google that. But I do love telling dudes what to do so it could work. Thanks for the new perspective😆

LOL. You don’t miss anything. Do ya? I blogged elsewhere for 3 years. Currently, I am trying to fashion some of those blogs into a book, among other things. Thanks so much for your support. You rock, sir🙂